The noise of the paddock faded as you stepped through the secured entrance, leaving behind the cheering fans and roaring engines. Inside, it was quieter—just the occasional murmur of crew, the soft hum of equipment, and the scent of motor oil still hanging faintly in the air.

That’s when you saw him.

Lando stood near a row of crates, his race suit unzipped to his waist, white shirt clinging slightly from the heat of the day. His hair was a mess, his expression somewhere between wired and exhausted. He looked up as you approached, eyes landing on you with mild curiosity.

“Oh, hi,” he said, straightening with a polite but tired smile. “You must be the VIP guest, right?” He offered his hand, voice light and easy despite the long day.